


First Come, First Serve

by OneofWebs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alpha Lambert, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Arguing, Blood, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Neck Kissing, No Actual Rape/Non-Con Takes Place, No Actual Suicide Takes Place, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, References to Depression, Rough Sex, Running Away, Suicide mention, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24895435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Jaskier has lost all of his freedom. He's lost his lute. He lost everything the moment he found himself beingsoldto an alpha who doesn't want him as anything more than a means to an end--children. This is the type of life that Jaskier never dreamed of, never wanted. He thinks he may be able to find his escape when a strange Witcher comes to town. It's certainly no white-knight fairy tale, but it'll do. It'll more than do. Jaskier may be more in love with the Witcher than he is the idea of freedom.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 21
Kudos: 289
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ANYWAY this started out as like a joke. or something. I have no iDEA what this was when I started but it's 10x more now than I ever could have planned for. I went overboard. I hope somebody reads this and enjoys it cuz boy howdy did i work hard.

Jaskier was dressed in his finest silks, because that was how he was expected to dress. His _alpha_ , who wasn’t even his alpha, had high expectations. Jaskier was to be present and accounted for whenever he was needed, and he was to do so dressed like the high-society omega he was. Not the filthy road-traveler he’d been before they’d found him and dragged him back here. Here, he wasn’t Jaskier the bard. He was Julian Alfred Pankratz who had been sold for an exorbitant amount of coin.

His _alpha_ wouldn’t let him forget it, either. And the man wasn’t even his alpha. Jaskier could barely be bothered to remember the man’s name half of the time, and that was exactly how he wanted to keep their relationship. Jaskier had been here a year, already, and he’d gone through exactly four heats. His _alpha_ hadn’t taken advantage of a single one of those to finally stake his claim. He’d been out making deals and collecting business partners, instead. Jaskier was, expected to go through his heats with hired omegan help and nothing more.

Things were changing, though. This heat was where the threat came real. Jaskier had exactly three days left before his alpha finally fulfilled his duty and made Jaskier _his_. After that, Jaskier would die, and he’d be left as Julian for the rest of his life. He didn’t _mind_ being Julian, but he wanted to be Julian on his own terms. His alpha using the name as a branding mark, as a reminder that Jaskier wasn’t allowed to be himself within these walls, were not exactly what Jaskier qualified as his own terms.

All Jaskier could do was hope that his letter arrived in time. He had exactly _one_ hope at escaping this. It might shame his family for the rest of all time, but _he_ would be happy. He’d spent the last week out here on his balcony, dressed in his finest silks, waiting to see if things were going to work in his favor. He spent an abnormal amount of time on this balcony in the evenings. Always waiting. There were fairy tales about this, a princess waiting for their charming lover to come and rescue him.

Jaskier didn’t know if he’d call his _charming_ , but lover was certainly accurate. He’d met him not long after he’d arrived at this manor, still bitter from his invisible chains.

There was a commotion in town that caught Jaskier’s attention. He’d come out to this balcony in order to _pout_ , because it was the only place in the whole house he had any company. Not even his room belonged entirely to him, with how many times this cretin of an alpha had barged right in on him in various stages of undress. No one dared followed him out to the balcony, though, because everyone could see how unhappy he was. They all feared he might throw himself over the railing if he were followed, and they were right.

It was evening time, now, and he was left mostly to his own devices. That was when he saw the commotion. He wasn’t sure if it was to be a celebration or a stoning, but frankly, it didn’t matter. Jaskier had been here for five days, and he’d been dreaming of a reason to get himself out for all five of them. Maybe he’d been expecting something a bit more _white_ and noble looking, but this would do. From what he could see atop his perch, his way out was much more rugged than his mind had supplied.

Really, from the distance, he could only make out a blob of brown and red. That was quite the opposite of the white and silver knight he’d been taught to want from childhood tales. Still, Jaskier didn’t care. He had to find a way to sneak down to town. He flew off the balcony railing and dashed back into his bedroom. He hated the caution he had to take, but it was necessary. All he needed was one thick leather collar and his cloak. The collar to keep from being bitten. The cloak to keep from being known.

Jaskier’s fake alpha had gone away on what he called a _business_ trip. That had to have been fake; the swine was probably off fucking sterile omegas in brothels because the idea of being tied down was just as distasteful to him as it was to Jaskier. The only difference was the alpha had a choice; Jaskier had been bought and sold like cattle, and now he belonged to that alpha, bond or not. He could carry the man’s children and still never have a bond; he’d _belong,_ either way. The power of coin.

None of the house staff really cared one way or the other about Jaskier. That being said, he still knew how to avoid them. He knew their rounds, and he knew which directions to head to keep from being spotted. That was the easiest way out the front door. That was where Jaskier headed out to town from, the front door. It was that easy; he just made sure the door closed quietly behind him.

The breath of fresh air felt different with his feet on the ground than it had from the balcony. It felt a bit like freedom. As long as his alpha wasn’t around, maybe he still had the leeway to walk into town every now and again. That was riding on people not being able to recognize him; that would get dangerous, fast. Jaskier tried not to think much about it, too afraid it would send him back inside, and started down the road to town.

When he arrived in town, the commotion had all moved to the tavern. Jaskier followed the hollers of drunken men and stepped right into the door, peering through the crowd to see what he could find. He heard the music from the bard and tried not to dwell on _his_ days entertaining taverns. Instead, he just looked through the crowd. A Witcher had come to town a few days prior, apparently, and now he was here, boasting in the accolades of a people more than pleased with his work.

“Thank you, thank you!” the Witcher shouted. Jaskier worked his way through the crowd to get a closer look. “Your monster was nothing; died like a dog in the mud,” he boasted.

The tavern cheered for him, and Jaskier grinned. He’d heard of Witchers before; he was even sure he’d met them before. This one looked different. Melodramatic like the rest, but maybe not quite so _broody_. He invited the attention of the tavern, and whatever preconceived notions the townspeople had all but melted away at his wicked sort of charm. Jaskier was just as taken with it.

He found an isolated place to sit as he heard the Witcher’s tale. There’d been talk of a werewolf in the neighboring woods; Jaskier had thought it was just talk, but the Witcher spoke about his encounter in too great a depth for it to be fake. He described the mangy beast right down to its crooked jaw and hanging sinew. Jaskier was almost disgusted, but the way the Witcher spoke had him feeling some different type of way. He nearly squirmed in his seat, excited to hear more.

 _This_ was the type of story he could write a ballad about. Geralt had always been stingy with the details. Now that Jaskier would likely never see Geralt again, it didn’t matter how stingy he was. Jaskier wouldn’t write another song, not unless it was made for private audiences only. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to decide he wouldn’t mind having _this_ Witcher as a private audience. Nobody even seemed to know the man’s name, but that was fine. Even if he was less famous, he seemed just as capable.

Jaskier listened to the story as it continued. No detail was left out. Not from the way the werewolf threw the Witcher into a tree so hard it snapped, or the way that the Witcher finally sank his silver blade right through the werewolf’s throat. The tavern erupted in cheers as the Witcher’s tale came to an end. Even Jaskier clapped, quite impressed. He had no way to know if it was real or not, but he’d certainly never made a living on telling the truth. It made a good story, and that was all that mattered.

Jaskier had to meet this man. Thankfully, he was anything but shy. Even as the bard began to play again and those equally impressed with this Witcher’s story attempted to meet him, Jaskier was not dismayed. If anything, he felt challenged. This wasn’t a place for omegas, but Jaskier had never had a problem standing out like that. If anything, it made _his_ desires more important. He could smell the alpha on that Witcher from the moment they shared the same space. No alpha in their right mind would be more interested in betas and alphas than they would be an omega.

The Witcher was sitting at the other end of the tavern, food and drink provided, along with adoring fans and entertainment. This was no normal reaction to a Witcher, and Jaskier knew it. He didn’t blame the man for drinking it all in while he had it. The next town would throw him into the mud for the audacity of existence. Jaskier hoped to know him before that happened, before he decided to leave.

As Jaskier approached, the Witcher already had one tavern wrench trying to worm her way into his lap. She was a beta and gorgeous; she had the Witcher’s entire attention before Jaskier approached. Then, just as the smell hit the Witcher in the face, Jaskier sat down without an invitation. The Witcher stared at him, wide-eyed.

“You have to tell me more,” Jaskier said. “The werewolf, sure, that’s fine. Great story. Surely, there are others?”

The Witcher raised a thick eyebrow. This certainly was no picture of a dashing and noble knight, but Jaskier wasn’t deterred. The man had short brown hair, a short beard and mustache combo. He had those same piercing golden eyes that Geralt did. He was definitely a Witcher, and he was definitely intrigued. He ignored the beta woman entirely for leaning forward on the table, his eyes transfixed on Jaskier’s shadowed face.

“You want more stories, is that it?”

“Yes, precisely.”

The Witcher smirked. “That’s not usually what people are looking for.”

“We can look for different things later, if you like. I’ve been told I’m quite the company.”

“Oh, I bet you have.” The Witcher folded his hands on the table and scoffed. If Jaskier hadn’t been half-covered in a cloak and half-covered by the table, the man would have been looking at him with _hunger_. Jaskier often had that effect on people, and he knew it. He used it to his advantage. On this alpha, on his own. It always worked.

For every story the Witcher could tell him, Jaskier ordered a round for the two of them. It’d only taken one round and one story for the crowd to clear away; they would never be more important than an alpha and an omega sizing each other up. Then came another story, and Jaskier ordered another round. Three stories, three rounds. They were both drinking, and as the drinking continued, the stories became less and less coherent. It was after the fourth round that the Witcher finally slammed his hands down on the table.

“I need some fresh air,” he said. “You coming?”

Jaskier beamed, still as steady on his feet as he could be. He was happy to follow the Witcher out of the tavern, though he shouldn’t have been so eager. He was walking from a room full of people— _witnesses_ —to the chilled night air outside where the only things that could see them were the horses and the goats. No one would stop the Witcher if he chose to attack Jaskier, but the witnesses could prove that’s what it was when his alpha returned to find the aftermath. Outside, Jaskier had no help. He didn’t want any.

“What’s all the interest in the stories?” The Witcher asked. He walked relatively straight too, but each time he stumbled, it was a good excuse for their arms to touch.

“Oh, I found them quite exciting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that. Flattered, but _most_ people are either around for a quick fuck or a quicker kill. What’s your deal? Fuck or kill?”

Jaskier gave a soft smile. “Curiosity, really,” he explained. “Do you see that house over there? Just out of town?” He pointed to the dimly lit shadow of the manor.

“Big fucking place.” The Witcher snorted. “Bet some rich fucker lives there. How come _he_ _’s_ not the one paying for werewolf duty?”

“That’s a great question.” Jaskier gave a wary grin, not quite willing to admit that’s where _he_ lived. The change in topic was enough for the Witcher to forget his question, too. As far as Jaskier knew, Witchers didn’t get very drunk. Everything in them ran too slow for it to happen. That wasn’t the most common piece of knowledge, which meant the Witcher had a bit of an advantage if he just wanted to _pretend_ he was drunk. Jaskier knew he couldn’t be, no matter how he smelled of alcohol.

They walked through town together, idly chatting. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to lead the Witcher right to the lake at the edge of town. It was surrounded in the first trees of the neighboring wood, and in the night like this, it was beautiful. Jaskier always looked down at it from the balcony, but it was so different being here in person.

“Nice lake,” the Witcher muttered. “What are we doing all the way out here?”

“Forgive me.” Jaskier laughed. “I might have been using you as an escort. I haven’t been down here before, but I knew it would be beautiful.”

The Witcher looked at him a bit strangely; there was a scrunched up look on his face that Jaskier didn’t quite understand, so he didn’t press it. All he knew was that when he sat down at the edge of the water, the Witcher sat down with him.

“It’s breathtaking,” the Witcher admitted; Jaskier looked at him.

“What’s an omega walking around in a tavern for, anyway? Weren’t you afraid something would happen?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Not entirely. Nobody really knows that I’m here, so I consider that to be spectacular armor. You’re not so bad yourself—for armor, I mean. I don’t know any alpha who would try to jump me while I’m with a Witcher.”

“What if the Witcher’s the one who tries? Needy bunch of fucks.” There came a snort.

Jaskier went silent for a moment, dragging his fingers through the grass. That certainly was a question he hadn’t considered before. He’d slept with plenty of alphas; it had gotten him in trouble when came time for a final asking price. He didn’t sell for quite as much with his cherry popped, so to say. Now that he’d already been bought, his time for freedom was waning. If he wanted to do something, these were his last days to do it. He was sure that, when his heat came, his alpha would take what he’d bought.

With his mind set, Jaskier reached up to pull back his hood, letting it rest on his shoulders. Then, he really looked at the Witcher, who returned the same glance. The Witcher looked surprised to see Jaskier’s face, as if he were expecting something hideous and ugly beneath the hood. What he found were smooth features, high cheekbones, and perfectly styled hair. Through all that, it was Jaskier’s eyes that caught his attention. Jaskier stared right back, unwavering.

“If it were _this_ Witcher,” Jaskier said, reaching across the space between them to brush their fingers together, “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Those are dangerous words.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I’m feeling dangerous tonight.”

It was unclear which one of them moved first, but they met in the middle with a kiss. It was slow, slower than perhaps either one of them intended, but it was a kiss. Closed lips, chaste. The Witcher’s hand came up along Jaskier’s jaw, and with a sudden tug, they were even closer. The kiss turned hot, quickly. All at once, the Witcher was surging forward and straddling over Jaskier’s hips before pushing him down into the grass. He remembered the touch of the Witcher’s fingers dwindling down his neck until he touched the rough leather.

“Not feeling _particularly_ dangerous,” the Witcher commented.

Jaskier just smiled and pulled him back down for another kiss. They rolled together in the grass, scrambled to get each other’s trousers down. Neither one of them cared for the rest of the clothes. All that mattered was that the Witcher’s cock was freed and Jaskier had enough space to spread his legs. Everything that happened after was a blur of red, hot pleasure. The Witcher pressed into him, splitting Jaskier open on the thick of his cock. Jaskier threw his head back and cried out.

It was the best thing he’d ever felt, this Witcher moving inside of him. When they rolled again, it was so Jaskier could grind down onto that cock and take his own pleasure. It was stupid, what they did, but they both reveled in it. In the grass, wrapped up in each other. When Jaskier finally came, it was with his back pressed into the ground, his legs wrapped around the Witcher’s waist. The Witcher came a moment later, not even bothering to pull back.

Jaskier didn’t even have the decency to feel dread. He would be disgusting and in need of a hot bath, but this Witcher couldn’t get him pregnant. For a moment, he almost wished that weren’t true.

As they came down from the high, the both of them laid in the grass together. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to scoot closer, resting his head at the Witcher’s shoulder. He was cold, now that they were done, he and sought whatever warmth a Witcher whose heart barely beat had to offer.

“You never told me why you wanted the stories,” the Witcher said.

“It’s about the house. The one where you said a rich fuck must live.”

The Witcher snorted. “Are you about to tell me that I’m wrong? I bet the prissy fuck rubs oil on his feet every morning.”

“He has servants to do that,” Jaskier said. Now, he was wishing that they’d taken the time to disrobe. When he laid his hand on the Witcher’s chest, all he felt was hard armor. He longed for the feeling of skin; hoped it would be warm.

“I live there,” Jaskier continued. “The process was long, but I finally arrived here just five days ago. The alpha who owns the manor bought me from my parents.” Jaskier pushed himself up onto his forearms. “I’m not entirely sure how much, but I’m told I fetched a fair amount. Before that, I was a bard. I came from a wealthy family, but I’d left. I thought they’d leave me alone if they didn’t have to deal with me, but one day, I’m getting dragged back to Mother dearest so she can sell me.

“My alpha won’t let me leave the house without escort—it’s why I’ve never come down here. I’m trapped in there without a thing to do, and he just expects me to wait on his every call when he’s home. I hate it. He—he even broke my lute.”

The Witcher looked at Jaskier, face scrunched up again. “Sounds pretty bad,” he said. “You sure he’s your alpha, though?” He made his question clearer by feeling along Jaskier’s collar. It was the collar an unmated omega would wear to keep themselves that way.

Jaskier touched the collar, then. “He wants to bond during a natural heat—”

“Old-fashioned fuck,” the Witcher scoffed.

Jaskier’s lips twitched a small s mile. “Which, I haven’t had. It’s soon, though, so tonight felt like the last night I had to myself.”

“I applaud your decision to spend it with me.”

“What about you?” Jaskier asked, shifting so he could lean his head on the Witcher’s covered chest. “I hear no Witcher has a happy beginning.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” and he told the story. His father pushed him and his mother around. Beat them until they were black and bleeding. Then, someone had the audacity to save his father’s life when they should have let him die—a Witcher who stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. By law of surprise, a new Witcher was born. Unhappy and bitter like the rest of them, just angrier.

Jaskier sighed and leaned against the Witcher, seeking those last few droplets of warmth before he had to return home. “I suppose it’s not all that different,” he said. He hadn’t had much of a choice, either.

The Witcher didn’t say anything. He waited only a moment before he sat up in a sudden hurry. It was the end of their night, and surely the Witcher had other places to go. That, or he had a place to stay. Jaskier couldn’t invite him home, nor could they stay here. Jaskier wasn’t offended at the sudden haste to leave; he just wished it didn’t have to happen.

As it turned out, Jaskier’s alpha _hadn_ _’t_ bonded him. Still hadn’t. Jaskier had met the Witcher every time he came to town since then, for a total of five meetings. It wasn’t much, in the span of a year, and it surely wasn’t much to build a relationship on, but it was something. Jaskier didn’t have a lot of _something_. He had this very real threat looming over his head that, in three days, he would no longer be a free omega. He would have a bond mark on his neck. He would be mated and bred and turned into a glorified baby machine.

He didn’t want that. He wanted to see that telltale sign on the horizon that his Witcher was coming back. The minute he knew this threat wasn’t empty, he’d snuck a raven. He had no way of knowing if it had ever found his Witcher. He had no way of knowing if the Witcher cared, but he hoped. He hoped and he prayed to any god that he could think of that one of these nights, his Witcher would be there. Maybe he wasn’t the white and silver knight Jaskier had been promised, but he was the brown and red alpha he deserved.

At least, Jaskier hoped. For all he knew, he’d been the Witcher’s fun _fuck_ every time he stopped into town. Jaskier had never been shy about spreading his legs. If that’s all he was, then maybe the Witcher would return for at least one more romp in the dirt. After that bond, Jaskier would never take another alpha. Not without another bond, anyway, and he didn’t need more fat, rich fucks trying to breed him. One was traumatizing enough.

Jaskier sighed, leaning into the railing of his balcony. Three days. If his Witcher didn’t come, he would throw himself off the balcony before he lost himself to his heat. He decided, right then and there, that he’d rather die than live the rest of his life as some rich alpha’s broodmare. He’d known omegas who had lived like that, and he didn’t want to be them.

As it was, it was getting late. Jaskier couldn’t stay out here much longer without freezing to death or alerting the worry of the servant staff—which, he really didn’t care to do. He disliked them at the best of times, though he tried to think positively. There was little to think positively about, especially as the sun began to lower. Jaskier might drag a blanket out here just to stay a minute longer. He _needed_ this.

Somehow, he always got what he needed.

Jaskier perked up almost instantly at the sight before him—it was blurry and nothing more distinguishable than a blob on the horizon, but it gave Jaskier hope. Not many people were riding into town on a lone horse. All he had to do was wait a bit longer. If that horse never arrived, then he’d just seen a weary traveler.

“Please,” Jaskier whispered. “I need it to be you.” To whatever god was listening; Jaskier clasped his hands together.

He waited. And he waited. He waited for a moment longer, terrified that he’d gotten his hopes up for nothing. The sun was nearly down, and he was beginning to shiver. But he needn’t wait any longer. He heard the telltale sound of horse hoofs against the dirt road; he pushed himself over the railing to see better, and he saw exactly what he hoped to see.

“Lambert!” Jaskier shouted.

“Yeah, yeah—shut up,” Lambert shouted back. “Are you coming down here, or do I have to come get you? I’m not climbing your damn trellises.”

Jaskier beamed. He pushed away from the railing and dashed back through his room. He only barely managed to grab his cloak—no collar—before he hurried down the hall. He didn’t bother with avoiding the staff; he just ran through the house until he was down to the door. Jaskier ripped it open and slammed it shut behind him, stepping out into the cold air. As he approached Lambert, who had yet to dismount, he wrapped his cloak around his shoulders.

“I got your note,” Lambert said, tugging a small piece or rolled parchment from his bag. “Little desperate, if you ask me. I didn’t think you’d ever call on me.”

“But you came,” Jaskier breathed his words.

“Yeah,” Lambert muttered, tearing his gaze away. He couldn’t stand to look at Jaskier when he lit up like that, sparkling eyes and wide smile.

“Can we go back to the lake?” Jaskier stepped closer to the horse. “I haven’t been since—since we met.”

Without looking, Lambert held out a hand for Jaskier. When Jaskier took it, Lambert helped hoist him up onto the horse. Jaskier settled in front of him, which was less than idea. Jaskier may have been wearing a high-necked doublet, but it was loose enough that Lambert could still see his neck. There was no collar, this time. That had Lambert gulping, but he forced his focus somewhere else. He kicked the horse into a low trot, heading off towards the lake.

When they arrived, Lambert was the first to dismount. He helped Jaskier down, after, ignoring the comment about how he was a _gentleman_. He was a Witcher, and none of this should have been happening. He should have looked at Jaskier’s letter and laughed, but he didn’t. Instead, he got straight on his horse and road through the day to get to the town as fast as he could. For Jaskier, he’d skipped stopping off to get his payment for the job he’d been on. Somehow, Jaskier was more important than coin.

He didn’t know when that had happened.

It’d happened about the same time he’d planned to bring a blanket with him when he stopped here. That, after pulling it out of his pack, he laid in the grass. It was more comfortable than whatever they’d done the first time they were at the lake, save for the fact that Lambert had had Jaskier’s full attention at that point. They hadn’t even known each other’s _names_ before they’d fucked in the dirt. It was only the next time Lambert came to town that they’d bothered.

Tonight, Jaskier’s head was somewhere else. He hadn’t even noticed the blanket Lambert laid out, and Lambert didn’t bother with it a moment after. Jaskier was standing so close to the edge of the lake that the ground might give out beneath him at any point, done away by the water. There, Lambert joined him. Any other night, Lambert might have touched him. This night, they stood at a near respectable distance.

“Why _did_ you call me all the way out here?” Lambert asked. “I was two days’ ride out, dealing with some pack of wargs. Fuck—” Lambert sighed. “You’re freezing.”

Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself and nodded, but neither of them moved. Rather than risk looking like a fool, Jaskier just stood there and shivered. Rather than risk an unwanted approach, Lambert just stood there and sighed.

“My heat is in three days,” Jaskier said. “My alpha, he—” Jaskier sucked in a deep breath. “He’s going to do it, this time. We talked about it. I mean, _he_ talked about it, and I was expected to sit there and agree with everything he said, so I did. I went and agreed to a heinous amount of horrors that I don’t think even a drunk man would have agreed to, and I—”

“Jaskier,” Lambert cut him off. “Breathe. Talk.”

Jaskier nodded and did just that. He sucked in a deep breath and wrapped himself in his cloak even tighter than before. “He’s going to _breed_ me,” Jaskier said, the disgust dripping off his tongue. “I’m going to have all of his heirs, and when he dies, they’ll get everything. I’m just here to provide them. Immediately, I thought that I had to say something, but I couldn’t speak fast enough. I ended up saying I thought this was _agreeable_. He intends to have my own children drop me off at the nunnery when he dies! I mean, just the audacity, I—” Jaskier sighed, squeezing around his chest tighter.

“I can’t go through with that,” Jaskier finally said, turning to face Lambert. “I need your help.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “With what, exactly? I’m not usually the one people call on when they need help.”

Jaskier was terrified to say it, but he had to. “I need you to bite me.”

Lambert’s eyes went a little wide. “Believe me, you, that’s more trouble than either of us need to be into. Witcher’s have it bad enough; I can’t go adding stealing some noble boy’s omega right from under him to the list. They’d throw me out of town. I’d never be able to come back here, and _then_ what would you do? You’d go through your heats alone, or _worse_ , your bastard alpha fucks you anyway, and you just suffer more.”

“Or, he throws me out,” Jaskier insisted. “He already thinks I’m a whore. If I come home with some other alpha’s mark—”

“He has some botched doctor rip your damn uterus out and throws you into a whore house,” Lambert snarled. He turned to Jaskier and took hold of him by the shoulders. “Do you _know_ what alphas like him can do?”

Jaskier had no response, just a wide-eyed look.

“He’s got coin, so nobody’s going to give a damn what he does to you. He _owns_ you, Jaskier. But let’s say best case scenario, he sees your pretty new bond mark and throws you out on the street, no questions asked. What then? You think you can just follow me around, or are you looking to go on your own adventures? Go back to being a bard?”

Jaskier hadn’t thought that far. He just wanted to do something other than pump out babies for the rest of his life, and that was precisely what his alpha intended to use him for.

“Even then, you’re tied to me, after that. Unless you can find yourself another alpha, you’re going to want my _cock_ to the point that it hurts four times a year. How do I find you then, huh? Or do I just wait to hear about some pretty little bard that got himself raped in an alleyway and _died_ because of how hard the rejection hit, or how hard the alpha had to force him to make it work. Do you think I want that?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I—” he didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected this. He didn’t know how to take it. Was it concern? Was it anger?

Lambert grumbled to himself and dropped his hands away. In turn, he just dragged his fingers over his face and regretted everything he’d just said. He could see what Jaskier was unwilling to show—the fact that he was about to cry. He’d come to Lambert in his time of need, and instead, Lambert decided to list out all of the horror stories that Jaskier no doubt already knew, was just trying not to think about. Lambert had done him the favor of dragging up every horrible thing that could happen to him. Good job.

The problem was, Lambert didn’t know what to do, either. He was dealing with too much to think straight. His childhood had been a great teacher for how to repress everything he felt, because feeling things had only caused problems. Feelings made him a target, because his father could use those against him. Feelings in his line of work meant he didn’t work efficiently. Feelings now would mean he’d steal Jaskier from the world, entirely, only to lose him eventually. Lambert would live for hundreds of years, while Jaskier would be lucky to reach eighty.

They wouldn’t even be able to have children. There would be nothing left of Jaskier. Nothing for him to pass on. No child for him to rear, if he wanted it. He’d be condemned to a life of traveling from one town to the next, begging for coin, food, and drink. Maybe his current life was just as bad—no freedom, condemned now to a life of breeding. Lambert wasn’t supposed to care. In fact, he didn’t _want_ to care, but he did. He’d cared about Jaskier from the moment they laid together by the lake and just talked.

“Jaskier,” Lambert eventually just sighed, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t _want_ anything bad to happen to you. If I could take you out of this, I would.”

All at once, Jaskier collapsed into his chest. Lambert stood there, shell-shocked, but relaxed a moment later. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him; Jaskier’s head was tucked up under his chin, and Jaskier was shivering—from the cold, the emotion, Lambert didn’t know. He didn’t ask. All he could do was squeeze Jaskier and hold him close, hopefully provide him with some semblance of warmth and safety.

“ _Please_ , Lambert.” Jaskier’s voice was muffled from where he pressed into Lambert’s chest. “I just need the chance to get out. You won’t be responsible for me. I promise. I’ll deal with my own heats. I won’t follow you. I—I just need _out_ of this.”

Lambert wrapped him up in the hug even tighter. He thought. There were options; he could ignore Jaskier entirely and leave him to the fate, bite him right now and induce his heat early, or fake it. There were ways to bite an omega without inducing a heat. That was the easiest way.

“How much does your alpha know about you?” Lambert asked, pushing Jaskier back so their eyes could meet. “Would he be able to tell a real bite from a fake one?”

Jaskier rubbed at his eye and shook his head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t have the best sense of smell.”

Lambert took in a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll give you a fake bite. It’ll fucking suck, mind you, and it won’t stick. But it’ll show you what he wants to do with you. If you have to, tell him it’s fake. _Please_ , do not get yourself hurt over this.”

Jaskier nodded. He couldn’t stop the tears, no matter how he swiped at his face.

“Okay. That way, everything should work out.”

“Until my heat comes again,” Jaskier muttered, clearly bitter about the decision. “Where’s my armor, then?”

Lambert didn’t answer. He was bitter about this decision, too, but it was the best way to make it. He grabbed Jaskier by his shoulders and turned him around, and Jaskier let himself by manhandled in such a willing way that it almost hurt to see. Lambert couldn’t help but wonder what went on in that house to have Jaskier shut down like this. Ignoring it the best that he could, Lambert tugged the collar of Jaskier’s doublet down.

He leaned forward. The _second_ Jaskier’s scent hit him, Lambert nearly lost himself. One bite would be all it took to have Jaskier down on his knees. One bite and Jaskier would be his; he could wake up every morning with this honeysuckle and lavender scent close enough to indulge in—but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he just savored the scent and moved in. He knew precisely the areas of an omega’s neck that could be bitten safely, and he picked one.

There was just the gentlest kiss beforehand, one that Lambert hoped Jaskier hadn’t noticed. Lambert was trying to distance himself from the emotion, not dive headfirst into it. The kiss was a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway. In the next second, he forced Jaskier into the worst sort of pain he could have ever imagined.

Jaskier _shrieked_ as Lambert’s teeth dug into his skin. Lambert hated the way it sounded, like a wounded puppy dying on the side of the street, but it was necessary. He _had_ to wrap his arms around Jaskier to keep him still. If he struggled too much, they risked something far worse than just a jolt of pain. Jaskier tried to struggle, tried to escape the horrid pain, but he couldn’t move until Lambert let him. Once the bite was there, dripping blood down Jaskier’s neck, Lambert let him go.

With his struggling, Jaskier fell forward once Lambert let him go. He barely caught himself on his hand, the other one shooting to the pain in his neck. His whole body trembled, and that was when Lambert dropped down beside him.

“Hey—hey, you’re okay,” Lambert said, resting a comforting hand right between his shoulder blades. “Jaskier— _Jaskier_ , listen to me.”

Jaskier was sobbing. Mating bites always hurt, but they happened during the heat. The omega forgot about how bad they hurt, or they were too overwhelmed with their heat to even know that it had hurt. Jaskier was perfectly cognizant, and there would be no happy brain functions to make him forget the pain. The fact that he didn’t immediately flinch away from Lambert’s touch was a blessing within itself.

“That—” Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. He pulled his hand away to look at the blood on his fingers, and he choked on a sob. “ _Lambert_ —”

Lambert hushed him, pulling Jaskier back against his chest. “You’re okay,” he said. “You’ll go home and make sure your alpha sees that before your heat hits, okay? It’ll heal, eventually. That’s not going to scar you.”

Jaskier nodded frantically, grabbing into Lambert’s armor for purchase.

“You’re okay, Jaskier. You’ll walk it off in a minute.”

Jaskier believed him, he just didn’t know how long that minute was going to be. It felt like it had already lasted a year, but with Lambert’s help, the pain did begin to subside. Lambert had this smell to him, like ash, leather, and a very particular type of flower that Jaskier couldn’t quite name. It was the most comforting thing he’d ever smelled, and he didn’t want to let it go. He didn’t want to let Lambert go, but they couldn’t stay here all night. It was like their first meeting all over again.

Eventually, Lambert pulled away, and they both stood up. Lambert couldn’t help another touch, running his fingers along the side of Jaskier’s face, but Jaskier looked away. He didn’t want to lose himself to a fantasy world where Lambert actually _cared_ about him, and that was exactly where that touch was going.

“I’ll take you back to the house,” Lambert muttered.

Jaskier nodded but didn’t speak. After Lambert gathered the blanket back up, he got Jaskier up onto the horse and followed suit. Their ride was quiet and slow. They went straight back to the manor and dismounted his horse. There, Lambert helped Jaskier down, and let their clasped hands linger for longer than he ought have. Jaskier was the one who pulled away, gripping his cloak around his shoulders. He looked small and helpless—a look that Lambert had never seen him with before.

“Just make sure he sees it,” Lambert said. “It’s sure to drive him mad. And—” Lambert sighed. “Stay safe. That’s all I can ask.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jaskier bit. He’d been taking care of himself. He didn’t need some strong alpha to swoop in and protect him—except, that’s what he wanted.

“Right. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Lambert’s voice turned bitter, all at once. He offered no further farewell and went straight back to his horse, leaving Jaskier standing there on the front step of the manor shivering.

Jaskier stood there and watched as Lambert rode away. He stood there until he could no longer see Lambert through the buildings, and until he could no longer hear the horse’s hooves. Then, and only then, did Jaskier allow himself to collapse down to the step and sob.

Eventually, someone from the service staff came out for him. She didn’t ask what was wrong, nor did Jaskier even believe she cared. Her job was to usher Jaskier back inside and take him to his room. Once he was there, he knew that’s where he was stuck. He’d run off one too many times, and this time, the door locked. Jaskier slumped down to his bed and curled his cloak around his shoulders tighter. Lambert’s scent lingered there, and it was the only comfort Jaskier could find.

“White myrtle,” Jaskier whispered. “That’s the flower.”

He laid down into his pillows and just closed his eyes. He thought he might cry, but he had nothing left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here is the rest of it. this is where the porn is

For three days, Jaskier was stuck in his room with only the occasional delivery of food. For three days, he was entirely alone, until that third day came. The whole day would just be filled with anticipation of when his heat would finally hit—if he would be able to escape it, when it did. On this third day, Jaskier was dressed in his finest clothes and sent downstairs to meet his alpha, who had finally come home. This was what Jaskier wanted to escape, and whether or not he could was still a mystery.

Jaskier walked down the stairs, his arms wrapped around his stomach. As he approached his alpha, he kept his head bowed. Everything he did he did with the intent purpose of trying to get his alpha to see his bite. It was still fresh, and it still hurt, so everything he wore had low-cut collars. His hair was always cropped short, so there was no way his alpha wouldn’t see this. It was just a matter of _when_ and what his alpha would do in response.

“Welcome home, alpha,” Jaskier said. His voice was clear, but he still hadn’t raised his head. “I hope your travel was well.”

“Ah, yes, yes. It was fine,” the alpha replied off-handedly. This was a song and dance that neither one of them wanted to play. “Have the preparations been made?” Right to the point.

“Y-yes,” Jaskier stuttered, shifting. His less than confident reply finally had his alpha looking at him, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ve waited a year for this moment. You don’t get to back out just because you’re nervous.”

Jaskier jolted. “N-No, I wouldn’t, I—” he finally raised his head, just to see the disappointed, almost angry look his alpha gave him.

“Julian,” the alpha barked, “what is going on?”

“Nothing! Just, as you said—nervous. I’m nervous. We haven’t, I mean—shared a heat before, and I—” Jaskier shook his head, wringing his hands together. He hadn’t shared his heat with an alpha in _years_ because of this man. It’d been awhile.

“I had to ensure that you weren’t _used_ ,” the alpha spat. “If you think your history wasn’t fully disclosed to me, then you’re more foolish than you look.”

“My apologies.” Jaskier bowed his head. The alpha’s plan had at least partially worked. Lambert had found a way into his bed each time he’d come to town, but never in time for his heat. It was Lambert’s fake bite that now throbbed on the back of his neck.

“Your apologies are meaningless. Once you bear my bite, I scarcely believe you’ll be allowed out of the house. I’ll instruct the servants to lock the door and hide the key.”

Jaskier gulped. “As would be appropriate, given my past.” He hated the way the words tasted on his tongue, but he had to agree. There had been one too many times where this alpha had raised his hand against Jaskier, and though Jaskier was insistent that he could take care of himself, he still knew how to be afraid.

The alpha looked at Jaskier, took him in from head to toe. Jaskier was always apprehensive when he went to meet his alpha, but he rarely trembled like this. It didn’t take a particularly skilled alpha to see that something was wrong, and this one could see that something was wrong. With one step, he cleared the space between him and Jaskier, and grabbed Jaskier by the collar of his doublet and yanked him closer. Jaskier stumbled over his own two feet, and then was forced right around.

The alpha had him by the neck, and with one hard yank, had torn his doublet right off of him. Jaskier went entirely still; his instincts told him not to fight, not to make it worse. He knew the exact moment when his alpha saw the bite mark on him, because his grip on Jaskier’s neck suddenly tightened.

“What have you done?” The alpha growled.

“I-I went to the lake.” Jaskier told a half-truth. “I was attacked—” A blatant lie.

“You _stupid_ whore of an omega. This is why you don’t go outside. You wreak of slut, and you’re too weak to protect yourself. Did you think I’d still take you with some other alpha’s mark on you? You’re _disgusting_ —” the alpha just snorted.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” Jaskier rambled. He regretted this. He didn’t know what was going to happen, only that his alpha was suddenly yanking him around and throwing him up against the wall.

Jaskier scrambled, trying to catch himself, but he didn’t get a moment of rest. His alpha came right after him, not even bothering with _him_ , but grabbing at the waist of his trousers to yank him back. Jaskier stumbled and tried to fight it, but he couldn’t—his alpha was tearing his laces apart and forcing his trousers down his thighs. Jaskier fell back against the wall with every horrible scenario Lambert had provided running through his mind. The worst of them Lambert had spared, but Jaskier could die here.

No one would care. His alpha had every _right_ to kill him. His alpha had spent good coin to buy him, and it would be seen as no different than putting down unruly cattle. The very thought had Jaskier sobbing against the wall as his alpha pulled off his smalls, too. His undershirt was long enough to keep him covered, and that was his only saving grace.

“P-please,” Jaskier cried. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’m sorry—I’m _sorry_ —”

“Quit your whining. Do you really think I even want you after this? If you want to act like a slut, then you can go off and _be_ a slut. I can smell your heat on you, Jaskier.” The alpha stepped up, pressing Jaskier into the wall and keeping him still, his chest to Jaskier’s back. “It won’t be long now until you’re _ripe_.”

Jaskier closed his eyes like it might close his ears.

“Do you think those alphas out there would be as kind to you as I would have been?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m sor—”

“ _Shut_ your mouth,” the alpha barked, slamming Jaskier into the wall, again. “How do I know you didn’t beg for it?” Oh, he had, under some fake fantasy that Lambert wouldn’t leave him to this. “I hope you enjoy your new life, Julian, because you don’t get to come back here.”

He pulled Jaskier off of the wall and dragged him towards the door. He ordered a servant to open it, and they did. Jaskier assumed he was just about to be thrown out, but the alpha didn’t just toss him out the door. Instead, he dragged Jaskier down the street by a hard grip in his hair; town wasn’t far. It wasn’t the best town, either. The alpha knew that, and Jaskier _knew_ that he knew it. There wouldn’t be an alpha in that town who didn’t smell Jaskier’s heat and not think it was their right to take him.

He could feel his heat coming. He’d been ignoring it. He’d been desperate to ignore it, but already, he was losing his focus. Fear had taken hold of him, and the underlying warmth of his heat came next. They were halfway to town by the time slick started to dribble down the inside of his thigh, and that was when it became terrifyingly clear what his alpha meant to do with him.

Jaskier wasn’t just tossed at the edge of town. His alpha paraded him through the streets, an omega right on the cusp of his heat wearing nothing but a loose, thin undershirt. In his twenties, still fertile and pretty. He was property. Discarded property. The moment they hit the center of town, his alpha threw him into the ground. Jaskier rolled until he could finally stop himself, right before his head bashed straight into the well. He pushed himself up onto his knees and tried to huddle himself away.

“This is what you wanted,” his alpha said. “Remember that when you’re poor and being raped for a living.”

Jaskier sobbed into his hand. He wrapped an arm around himself, gripping into the opposite shoulder, and tried not to cry. He tried not to make so much as a noise, and in an even more futile attempt, pressed his knees together like that would keep his heat a secret. It wouldn’t.

People were already gathering around him. Not just people—but alphas who wanted to take a bite out of him and betas who wouldn’t do anything to stop them. Jaskier hunched further in on himself and whimpered into his hand. He was suddenly so hot, and his mind was going blank. He didn’t want to lose himself so much that he would _beg_ for this. He didn’t even want to remember it.

As his heart pounded in his head. They were coming closer. Crowding him. Someone was going to grab him, and whoever grabbed him first would have first go. Would they fight over him? Would they share him? Pass him around in the tavern until he was covered in sweat and sperm. Jaskier _did_ start to cry, and under the sound of his own sobs, the world around him drowned out. He didn’t hear the approaching horse hooves, and he didn’t hear the following sound of boots on the ground.

Lambert all but threw himself down from his horse and drew a sword in the same time. He pointed it directly at the throat of the nearest alpha, and that stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Thought you got lost, Witcher.” Someone shouted.

“Yeah—fuck off,” Lambert replied. “Anyone _touches_ him gets their balls cut off and fed to them, deal? Still mulling over gouging all your eyes.”

Nobody came forward. Lambert backed up, and still, nobody moved. He sheathed his sword and turned on his heel, dropping down to Jaskier’s side. The smell hit him instantly—all of that sweet with the undertone of pure want. Lambert could smell the slick on Jaskier, but he tried to ignore it. He couldn’t let himself be drawn in—this wasn’t some mission to claim a prize. He just wanted to get Jaskier somewhere safe. Maybe he’d even give him a real bond mark, just to _keep_ him safe.

It didn’t matter. Lambert could figure out the details later. He ignored his own sudden and burning arousal in turn for putting his hands on Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier jolted, instantly, like he meant to scramble away.

“Hey—hey.” Lambert’s voice calmed him almost instantly. “You’re okay. We’re getting you out of this hell-hole.”

Jaskier nodded. He didn’t trust his voice; Lambert would have preferred to _hear_ his acceptance of this, but he understood. He pulled Jaskier in close and hoisted him up off the ground. It was an impressive amount of effort, but Lambert got them both up on the horse. Jaskier was more in his lap than in the saddle, sitting sideways with his face buried into Lambert’s chest. Lambert just held him and grabbed the reins of his horse, then kicking off towards the house in the distance.

While Jaskier’s head was still fogged, he could feel a moment of clarity coming back. Lambert did this to him, his scent. Jaskier could focus on it, could _believe_ for a minute that Lambert had come back for him. Cared about him. It made Jaskier feel safe, and he curled into Lambert’s chest. Grabbed onto the straps of his armor to ground himself, to hold on—he didn’t know. Jaskier just had this undying need to be close. Being close wasn’t going to stop his heat, though, and in the next moment, he just moaned into Lambert’s armor.

“Fuck,” Lambert muttered. “Where the fuck do you put an omega where no one will fucking bother him?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Lambert—” he shivered. “You, you, I—I want you.”

“No, you fucking don’t.”

Jaskier _whined_ in response, straightening up to nose into Lambert’s neck. “Please,” he begged. “Lambert—alpha— _please_.”

Lambert cursed under his breath. This was exactly what he didn’t want, because he wanted it. He wanted it just as badly as Jaskier did, but he _couldn_ _’t_. He had to find a safe place for Jaskier to ride this out, and then they could figure everything out after. The safest place for him was unfortunately where he’d come from—that stuffy rich person manor.

Lambert stopped his horse in front of it and shifted Jaskier up in his arms. He jumped down from the horse, trying not to jostle Jaskier too much. Too much jostling just meant the smell was all the more potent. Lambert was fighting a losing battle, and the smell wasn’t helping.

He walked up the stairs to the door and kicked it straight down; it hadn’t been relocked. The alpha was standing right there in the middle of the room with a glass of wine, like he was just about to celebrate the fact that he’d gotten rid of Jaskier. That just caused a sudden bout of rage. Lambert hadn’t had any intentions of hurting the fuck until that moment, exactly, and he drew forth a dagger.

“What are you—” the alpha was shut up instantly as the knife lodged right into his shoulder.

“I promise you, if you follow me up those stairs, you will _not_ come back down,” Lambert growled.

As the alpha made point of shouting his disapproval, claiming Lambert was somehow low and dirty for what he’d done, Lambert just went upstairs. He could follow the smell straight to Jaskier’s old room; until he could get Jaskier out of this town, this was the safest place for him. The smells were familiar, the space was familiar. Jaskier would be safe. Lambert laid Jaskier down right in his own bed, then took only a lingering moment to pet Jaskier’s sweat drenched hair out of his face.

“ _Stay_ ,” Jaskier gasped. “Lambert, don’t leave me like this. Please, please, I—”

Lambert shushed him. “I’ll be right outside,” he said.

Jaskier shook his head furiously, but when he tried to grab, Lambert pushed his hands back down to the bed.

“Right outside.” He promised. Before Jaskier could grab him again, Lambert fled from the side of the bed.

Outside, he was met with the last thing he wanted to see. That swine of an alpha had pulled the dagger out of his shoulder and followed Lambert right upstairs. They could both smell Jaskier now, his heat in full swing. Even if this alpha had disowned him in the streets, it wouldn’t beat those instincts to claim an unmated omega.

“He’s still mine,” the alpha sneered. “That mark—it’s fake. He wouldn’t be in heat if it weren’t fake. You’ll let me in there, _now_.”

Lambert grabbed for the hilt of his sword, just the beginning of his threat. “You threw him in the streets,” Lambert snarled. “You don’t _get_ to make demands.”

“I _own_ him.”

“You don’t own shit,” Lambert spat. “Go the fuck back downstairs, and I let you live. But I swear to whatever gods that if you come one step closer, I will strike you down.”

“You would threaten me in my own home?” The alpha still stopped.

“I would kill you in your own home if you try _anything_.”

“You’re protecting a whore.”

“Then what the fuck do you want anything to do with him for? Go back downstairs and stay there.”

“He’s worthless, anyway. If you want to take him, then take him. Drop him off at some brothel for all I care. He’ll die on his own.”

Lambert didn’t relent, and in the end, he won out. The alpha went back downstairs to have his wound tended to instead of continuing to fight. Once he was gone, Lambert finally let go of his sword; there was a moment where he could relax, lean against the door to Jaskier’s bedroom. Relaxation lasted exactly a moment. The smell of Jaskier’s heat hit him all over again, a fresh and hot wave of it. Lambert even trembled. He’d never been so weak in the presence of a heat.

He’d slept with plenty of heat-ridden omegas. He’d induced plenty of heats too just for the _fun_. He’d never given anyone a proper bond mark, though. He thought he never would. Especially not someone he cared about like he was beginning to understand he cared about Jaskier. It was unnatural. Witchers weren’t supposed to _feel_. Feeling had never helped Lambert, not any good ones. Anger kept him alive. Anger kept him strong. This thing growing inside him was going to make him weak.

Through the door, he could hear _everything_. Jaskier sounded like he was crying through every moan; Lambert could only imagine how much it hurt, how the need drove him wild. Was Jaskier lying flat on his back? His legs open and fingers pressed inside himself? Or had he perhaps worked up on his knees and done the same? Lambert shifted against the door frame and bit down on his knuckles, trying to think of anything other than Jaskier. His own arousal was growing, and it was a painful thing to ignore.

Against his better judgment, Lambert pressed his ear into the door. He could hear _everything_ , and strikingly nothing, all at once. He had half a mind to believe Jaskier was just lying there, writing in the bedsheets and refusing to touch himself. It was what he _did_ hear that struck deep.

_“Lambert_ ,” came Jaskier’s defeated cry. “Are you—are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Lambert replied, internally cursing himself. He shifted against the door. “I’m here, little lark.”

Jaskier sucked in a deep breath. “ _Please_ ,” he sobbed. “I’ll be good. You won’t have to deal with me. I just—I need you. Lambert, _please_ , I need you.”

Lambert closed his eyes and inhaled. “I can’t.” He _could_ , he just wouldn’t.

“ _Please_!” Jaskier cried. Lambert could hear how he panted, could _smell_ how wet he must be. It was almost unfair that Jaskier would start begging for him. Lambert’s resolve was already waning. This just made it worse.

Jaskier broke off into a litany of Lambert’s name, said over and over. He sounded like he’d been taken by agony, like he was writhing in the sheets in a sad attempt to find a comfortable way to lay. Lambert could see it when he closed his eyes, Jaskier with his back arched and his legs spread, toes digging into the mattress. He smelled divine; he must have looked beautiful. Lambert breathed hard, through his nose, and tried to think of something else.

There was no thought strong enough to drown out the way Jaskier cried for him. It was no desperate plea for an alpha; no other alpha would do in this situation. Jaskier wanted one alpha, the same alpha he’d wanted every time that alpha came into town. He swore up and down that he’d behave; he wouldn’t be a thorn in Lambert’s side by following him around and begging him for helps with his heats. He’d be _good_. He’d been good. He hadn’t slept with another alpha, not since he arrived in this town. Lambert was the only one.

Lambert couldn’t listen to it a second more. Every instinct in his body was pushing him forward. To protect. To _comfort_. Jaskier was in that room alone, _crying_ for him, and Lambert wasn’t going to let him do it a second longer. The last logical thought in his mind told him this was a bad idea, but he forced his way through the door anyway. He slammed it shut behind him, locking it, and grabbing a chair from the side to shove under the handle—this door would not open unless he was the one opening it.

When he turned and _finally_ saw Jaskier, his breath caught in his throat. Jaskier was laid out in the middle of the bed with his fingers wrested in the pillows. His back arched, and his hips bucked into nothing. His shirt still kept him mostly covered, though Lambert could see the strain of his cocklet. He’d seen it all before, but it was like seeing it for the first time with the heavy scent of heat in the air. Lambert had never been here for Jaskier’s heat, and he regretted that instantly.

“Lambert—” Jaskier gasped. He reached out for him, a silent way to beg.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lambert swore. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t leave, not after seeing _that_. Jaskier needed him.

Maybe it was just an awful story he was telling himself to justify what he was about to do, but he didn’t care. Jaskier was looking at him with those big, blue eyes, positively hungry for him. Lambert felt the same, and it was that hunger that had him stripping down out of his armor faster than he ever had. He stripped down his swords, the rest of his weapons, and then tore at the laces of his leathers. The one thing they’d never done was do this naked. Someone was always in some state of dress.

Once Lambert was down to just his trousers, he crossed the room and pulled himself onto the bed. This was a mistake. He _knew_ it was a mistake, but the way Jaskier reacted had every thought flown from his mind in an instant. Jaskier jolted up from his place on the bed and threw his arms around Lambert’s neck, tugging him down. Lambert fell into him, catching himself on one hand and using the other to hold Jaskier, right in the small of his back.

“Lambert,” Jaskier breathed. He pressed right against Lambert’s neck to smell him, to _know_ how that want lingered within him as much as it did Jaskier.

“I’m here,” Lambert muttered.

After a moment just to hold him, Lambert finally laid Jaskier back down on the bed. Jaskier was panting, already covered in a thin sheet of sweat. His shirt was sticking to him, his hair was plastered to his face. Lambert had never seen him look more beautiful, and it was all he could do not to stare. He had to do something, or Jaskier was just going to suffer. Lambert leaned down and took one deep inhale of Jaskier’s scent before kissing him, hard. Jaskier whined into the kiss, his back arching.

The kiss lasted for only a moment, then Lambert pulled back so he could focus. He got his hands underneath the hem of Jaskier’s undershirt and pulled it off, slipping it right over his head and throwing it to the side. He ran his hands from Jaskier’s stomach to his chest, just _feeling_ him. He was on fire, hot with a deep burning pleasure. He couldn’t escape it. Neither could Lambert. Something else entirely pulled him back down into a searing kiss. Jaskier moaned for him, wrapping arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

Lambert’s hands wandered while they kissed, feeling along Jaskier’s neck. The fake bite was already healing; Jaskier responded to the touch like it was a _real_ bite, too, like Lambert’s fingers against it were almost too much for him. He keened and bucked his hips, grinding for friction against the rough fabric of Lambert’s trousers. Jaskier let out the prettiest little whimpers, and Lambert swallowed all of them. Their kiss deepened as Lambert’s hands slipped further down, brushing over Jaskier’s chest.

“Mm—Lambert—” Jaskier gasped between their kisses. Lambert licked right into his mouth, and Jaskier was silenced, shivering.

Jaskier clawed at Lambert’s shoulders as pleasure took him. Lambert’s tongue was in his mouth, working over the tips of his teeth and all of the fine little ridges. It sent pleasure straight down to his groin, where his little cocklet twitched and his empty cunt practically _throbbed_.

Lambert thumbed over Jaskier’s nipples and had him keening a second later. Jaskier spread his thighs out and bucked his hips again. Then, he was frantically pushing at Lambert’s chest, trying to get him back. That was terrifying, like he’d hurt Jaskier, done something he didn’t like. His hands flew back, and Lambert was just hovering over top Jaskier within seconds, staring down at him. Of course, he’d panicked. Jaskier whined, reaching for him desperately.

“No—no,” Jaskier cried. “Fuck me—fuck me, please, please.”

With a hefty sigh, Lambert relented. “You fucking scared me, little lark.”

Jaskier shuddered, dragging his nails over Lambert’s scalp as Lambert descended on him, lips against his neck. For a moment, it was sweet and slow and _beautiful_ , but Jaskier wanted more. He hiked his legs up around Lambert’s waist and rolled their hips together, but the position gave him another vantage. Desperately, he tried to push at Lambert’s trousers with his heels. All it took was one push for Lambert to be pulling back, a light chuckle from the throat.

“Off,” Jaskier demanded, his voice breaking through the word. “ _Please_.”

That comment went ignored, and Lambert dipped down to press his lips into Jaskier’s collarbone. Kisses trailed down over Jaskier’s sternum, over his stomach, and straight down to his pelvis. Jaskier’s hips bucked, and he dug his fingers into the sheets.

“You’re— _teasing_ ,” Jaskier cried. Lambert didn’t _tease_. They’d always gotten straight down to it, and that was what Jaskier _craved_. Even if Lambert’s presence proved to calm him, given him back a bit of clarity, there was still a part of him that wanted nothing but Lambert’s cock inside of him.

“Why not savor what I have?” Lambert asked. Said like he would never have it again, and that sunk deep. Jaskier tried not to think about it, because he wanted to give this to Lambert every single time it happened. If he said that now, he’d be brushed off with useless heat ramblings, so he bit down on his lip and just let himself _feel_.

Lambert mouthed over the mound of his pelvis, holding Jaskier down by his hips. Once he reached it, he lapped over the length of Jaskier’s cocklet, working it from base to tip and then back down again. The little thing twitched, and Jaskier let out another keening moan. It had been ages since Jaskier had felt this, and he yearned for it. As Lambert moved lower, mouthing right at the beginning of Jaskier’s slit, his hips jumped. There were lips over his clit, Lambert tonguing right underneath the sensitive bud.

The noises Jaskier made—he couldn’t remember the last time this felt so _good_. Idly, he hoped that his old alpha could hear him—idly, he hoped that _old alpha_ was the proper term. All of his thoughts left him as Lambert tongued right through his slit, lapping at his slick. He was impossibly wet, already, and then there was that slick touch. Jaskier’s hips jolted as he tried to roll down into that tongue, but he couldn’t. Lambert held him still, held him right where he wanted him as he moved closer.

“L-Lambert, _fuck_ ,” Jaskier cried out. He felt tongue right over his quaking hole, and then Lambert was pushing inside.

Jaskier could have screamed. Feeling himself open like that was everything, and his whole body came alight with feeling. He could feel the trickling pleasure down the back of his thighs, up his spine. Lambert’s tongue was inside of him, working him with a practiced ease that had Jaskier feeling weak. He wanted this. He wanted more. He wanted this every time he could have it; he craved it like air, like he _needed_ it.

“Fuck me, fuck me—” Jaskier cried. “ _Please_ , Lambert, I need you. You, you, you— _fuck_ ,” Jaskier cried, his back arching as Lambert fucked his tongue deeper.

The way Jaskier begged for him had Lambert’s cock twitching in his trousers. He needed to get them off, but he couldn’t find the strength to pull back. _He_ needed this like he needed air. Jaskier tasted like everything good; he was wet, he was slick, and he opened right up as Lambert probed deeper. He spread his fingers down, too, pulling Jaskier’s lips apart. He inched his fingers through the soft flesh until he touched at the edge of Jaskier’s entrance, and Jaskier’s entire body shivered in response.

Before Jaskier could even muster the thought process to beg for this, Lambert gave it to him. He worked just a single finger into Jaskier, pulling him open wider. The way Jaskier trembled, how his jaw dropped open with his shaking moan—Lambert’s cock twitched uncomfortably in his trousers, and it was all he could do to work his hand down between his thighs to palm at himself. He made it obvious, too, so when Jaskier twisted just enough to look down at Lambert, he knew exactly what it was he did to him.

Lambert lapped at him, working his tongue deeper, and pressing in his finger. He worked a second one inside, then pulled back. Jaskier’s scent was impeccable, as was his taste. For only a second, Lambert hovered there to take it all on before he dove back down and licked around his fingers. The shiver he was rewarded with was enough to make _him_ tremble. He squeezed his cock through his trousers and groaned.

He finally pulled away and just worked his fingers into Jaskier, crooking them just right to send him spiraling, his back arching so _beautifully_. Lambert couldn’t tear his eyes away. He rested his free hand over Jaskier’s pelvis, using his thumb to pull at his labia open. Jaskier’s hips bucked, rolling down into the touch. He was trembling, gripping uselessly into the sheets.

“Fuck me—” Jaskier whispered. He was begging, weak.

“You’re in for it,” Lambert promised. He pressed a third finger in, spreading them apart to work Jaskier wide open—enough that Lambert could follow the drip of slick that he produced. Lambert could still taste it on his tongue, and as much as he wanted to spend _hours_ down there, making Jaskier writhe and moan on his tongue, he was more concerned with the inevitability that he might come in his trousers.

He pulled his fingers out and listened to the pathetic whimpering moan that Jaskier offered in return. Jaskier’s thighs clenched, and he looked so painfully empty. Gaping. Lambert scrambled to get out of his trousers, making no pretty show of it. Once he was naked, he crawled back between Jaskier’s hips and grabbed him by the thigh. With that grip, he yanked Jaskier down to meet him, their hips flushed together.

Jaskier looked positively wrecked with his arms splayed out over his head, the flush of red spreading down from his cheeks to his chest. His eyes were half-lidded, jaw dropped opened. Lambert couldn’t control himself for a moment longer. He took hold of his cock and rocked his hips forwards, rubbing the head right through Jaskier’s folds. Jaskier keened in response, squeezing his fingers into fists.

“Wait, wait—” Jaskier cried, trying to pull himself up. Lambert leaned over and pushed him back down.

“We have all the time in the world,” Lambert promised, though his voice ran dark. “Let me have you like this.”

Jaskier nodded hurriedly and was rewarded immediately. Lambert snapped his hips forward, and Jaskier cried out as the thickness of Lambert’s cock breached him. He could feel the stretch, the _burn_ right underneath the blooming pleasure. It was all he could do to grab at the sheets and ground himself as Lambert fucked into him.

“Oh, oh—” Jaskier keened, his back arching. He rocked his hips down, meeting Lambert’s own for that last desperate inch of his cock. “ _Lambert_ —!”

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” Lambert groaned through his words, grinding against Jaskier. “You weren’t lying, were you?” He asked, leaning over Jaskier. He took one of Jaskier’s wrists and dragged it up over his head, pinning it down to the mattress. “No alpha but me.” Lambert smirked.

“No one,” Jaskier agreed in a desperate gasp. “No one, Lambert, _please_ —” The first thrust punched the wind right out of Jaskier’s lungs. He threw his head back with a moan.

Immediately, Lambert set a pace unmatched by any time before. He worked hard, fast, their skin slapping together. Jaskier cried out each time Lambert breached him again, bottoming out as deep as he could. He could feel the heavy slap of his bollocks, and oh he _knew_ it didn’t mean anything. He knew Lambert couldn’t give him a baby, but his mind was lost in the moment. With his free hand, he idly touched down the middle of his stomach. He trailed that hand lower, ignoring his cocklet entirely in turn for dipping his fingers down through his folds to feel where Lambert disappeared into him.

Lambert’s hips stuttered then, but he didn’t relent. He squeezed around Jaskier’s wrist and pounded into him. He reached down to hike up Jaskier’s thigh like he could somehow get deeper—Jaskier swore he just might have. His air was gone again as he cried out, the angle changing _everything_. Now, with every thrust, Lambert practically pounded against something inside of Jaskier that had his body on fire all over again. He begged for it, cried for it. Everything out of his mouth was a string of rambling pleas as Lambert continued.

It didn’t take long for Jaskier to come, and he spasmed with his orgasm. He grabbed at Lambert, ignoring his own pleasure in turn for just _clawing_ at his shoulder, his back. Anything he could reach. Anything to ground himself as his orgasm flew through him with enough force to knock his breath right out. His back arched and he practically screamed. Lambert ducked down to swallow those cries as he let Jaskier’s leg go in turn for cupping his jaw. Against the force of his thrusts, the kiss was surprisingly tender.

Jaskier keened, curling his nails into Lambert’s skin. His hips bucked wildly back, trying to milk whatever he could get. It was like his orgasm was still going, thrumming through his body in hotter and hotter heat. Lambert just kept going, even as Jaskier clenched down around him. His walls practically rippled the way that he moved, and Lambert was groaning into their kiss as his own pleasure overtook him. Even Jaskier’s nails added to the heat, made everything more _alive_.

This was raw; this was perfect. Lambert’s jaw went slack as he moaned. Jaskier continued to kiss him, peppering over his jaw, his open lips, and he practically cried as he felt Lambert’s cock pulse inside of him, that sudden swell right at the rim of his hole.

“Lambert— _fuck_ , Lambert—” Jaskier needed this. He needed it now. He tried to twist away, to reveal as much of his neck as he could. “Please—bite me, mark me. I’m yours—” he cried, Lambert’s hips stuttering as his orgasm continued, his knot continuing to swell. “I’ve always been yours,” Jaskier insisted.

Lambert grabbed hold of Jaskier’s chin and wrenched his head to the side. He leaned in and bit down, hard, right on the side of his neck. Right over the glans. Jaskier shrieked in response, gripping onto Lambert with his nails, with all of the strength he could manage with just the one hand. He scrambled, he shifted, trying to pull his other hand free, but Lambert held him firm and bit down even harder. His sharp teeth sunk right into the flesh. Jaskier’s cry turned straight into a moan as Lambert rocked his hips.

His knot finally caught, and Jaskier had never felt so full. Neither had he ever felt so _loved_ as the bite allowed for a sudden rush of something else entirely. He clenched down around Lambert’s knot, like he meant to pull Lambert in deeper. All Lambert could do was continue to rock his hips, grinding his knot against Jaskier’s hole while the bite went deeper. Started to take.

When Lambert pulled back, he finally let Jaskier’s wrist go in turn for wiping his mouth of the blood. Jaskier looked dazed, like he’d gone off in another world for the time being. For as long as he needed to stay there, he could; Lambert just rocked into him, keeping the pleasure raw and fresh. He didn’t want the bite to hurt. He didn’t want _any_ of it to hurt. He stroked back Jaskier’s hair, kissing along his jaw for a moment of reprieve before he went back to the bite, lapping at the wound.

“Lambert,” Jaskier sighed. “ _Alpha_ ,” he muttered.

“I’m here, little lark,” Lambert muttered against Jaskier’s cheek. “I’m never leaving you again.”

Jaskier trembled, giving a weak nod. His head lolled back to the side, and his eyes closed. He let the feeling take him, and it took him straight to sleep. Lambert settled down on top of him as best he could without crushing him. He nosed against the side of Jaskier’s face, smiling; he’d be here when Jaskier woke up to take care of whatever he needed.

When Jaskier woke up next, he was insatiable. He pushed Lambert down onto the bed and rode him for what felt like hours, marveling at the feeling of Lambert’s cock still inside of him, working deep. Lambert held onto Jaskier’s hips and helped him move, helped him grind and bounce until Jaskier was practically gushing with his next orgasm, but he still didn’t want to stop. He let Lambert take control again, rolling them back over and pinning Jaskier into the mattress.

Jaskier keened so beautifully, arching up his back. He cried out, he _moaned_ as Lambert fucked into him. He was so loose and so wet every fuck forward was easy, enough to send Jaskier spasming through another orgasm, and another. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to pull up to his hands and his knees. Lambert took him again with a hard grip on his waist to pull him back into every hard thrust. Lambert’s knot finally formed again, and Jaskier came around it, squeezing down.

He begged Lambert to keep going, even as they both collapsed down to the bed. Jaskier looked well on his way to go straight back to sleep, but Lambert wouldn’t deny him. He rocked into Jaskier, grinding Jaskier on his knot. Even as Jaskier fell asleep, he whimpered and moaned through the onslaught. Lambert didn’t stop, not until his knot deflated, and even then, all he did was push Jaskier onto his front and mount him from the back. Jaskier cried through his sleep, and in the following hours, he woke back up just as enthusiastic as he’d been before.

Jaskier smelled perfect. He smelled divine. Lambert couldn’t get enough of him, even as his heat began to dissipate on the morning of the fourth day. They were still tied together, though nothing kept them like that. Lambert simply hadn’t pulled out, and though his cock had gone soft, neither of them had moved. Jaskier was content just where he was, tucked up beneath Lambert’s chin with his thigh hiked uncomfortably high to ensure nothing tugged or pulled through the night.

In those morning hours, neither one of them were much for talking. They were more concerned with simply _being_. Jaskier could smell Lambert perfectly, all the ashen flowers and leather. It smelled more like home than anything ever had, and it made Jaskier feel like he was safe. For once. In return, Lambert stroked over his healing bond mark, the _real_ one, and took in the sweet scent Jaskier gave in response.

“Where will you go?” Jaskier suddenly asked, and that gave Lambert pause.

“I hadn’t planned that far out, yet. Where would you like to go?”

And _that_ gave Jaskier pause. “I—I just asked for your bite,” Jaskier muttered. “It’ll keep me safe—” he stopped short as Lambert’s hold tightened around him.

“If you’re saying that shit because it’s really what you think I want to hear with my damned soft cock inside your cunt, then I haven’t been _nearly_ the alpha I think I am.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide.

“You’re mine now. No more different than I be yours, you understand me? I’m not leaving you out there. I did that once and look what happened. That shit excuse for an alpha downstairs—well, you know what happened.”

Jaskier smiled against Lambert’s chest, curling his fingers into fists against his skin.

“I can’t give you anything you might want,” Lambert said, though he sounded solemn. “So, I won’t keep you to myself. I can’t give you kids. I can’t give you a home. Can’t even give you _stability_ , but—as long as you come back to see me every now and again, I won’t mind letting another alpha have you.”

Jaskier shook his head, snuggling closer. “Why would I want another alpha? How many would come riding back to town to save me like that?”

“I never left,” Lambert muttered. “I couldn’t, not without making sure you were safe.”

“Then, I’m not leaving you, either. We can travel the world. I’ll write the best songs for you, you’ll see. First, we’ll need to find you a name which strikes awe. Do you happen to have any favorite animals?” Jaskier pushed himself up onto his forearm, and they both shifted uncomfortably. That was the end of that.

Lambert pulled out as carefully as he could and rolled onto his back, letting Jaskier curl up against him and rest on his chest. For a moment, all Lambert did was stroke idly up and down Jaskier’s spine. He needed some meat on him, maybe a bit of muscle. All things for later. A bath was in order, as was just getting out of town. Already, Lambert was looking forward to his bragging rights. Jaskier’s previous alpha may have owned him, but he would never _have_ him. Lambert had been the sole receiver of that pleasure.

He pulled Jaskier close enough that he might kiss his head, and then smiled to himself. “What do you say we get on with it, then? Lots to do.”

Jaskier nodded. “You will, of course, have to carry me. I don’t think my legs work, anymore. You did quite a number on me, you know.”

“Right, like you weren’t begging for it the whole time.” Lambert moved to get out of bed, then, but Jaskier grabbed him by the shoulder to keep him down for just a moment longer.

“I was,” Jaskier said, propping himself up so he could really look at Lambert. He trailed his fingers down the scars on Lambert’s face, then followed the curve of his jaw to his lips. “This may be taking us a bit too far, too fast, but when I met you—immediately, I knew I loved you. That hasn’t changed.”

Lambert cracked a half-baked smile and pulled Jaskier down by his hair for another kiss. Their morning was fond, lazy, and Lambert hoped to see many more in the future. Even if their rooming would never be quite as fine as this one now, it didn’t matter. They didn’t need the fancy room, because Jaskier had just said _that_. He loved Lambert, and that wasn’t something many people so proudly boasted.

“I love you, too,” Lambert replied.

With that out of the way, he finally got up and out of bed. They’d leave the mess but take anything else they could. Jaskier wasn’t above selling it for coin, and Lambert was already liking the dangerous side of his new omega. Now, all he needed was to hear him sing.

**Author's Note:**

>   
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